


Tangled

by MelikaElena



Series: Silver and Gold [1]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: AU, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 19:00:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1522022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelikaElena/pseuds/MelikaElena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snares aren't the only things Gale Hawthorne finds himself entangled in... he just didn't expect it to be anything like Madge Undersee's golden hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tangled

Madge likes it when people play with her hair. There's something incredibly soothing about gentle fingers gliding through the strands of her hair and carefully massaging her scalp. She adores the feeling of utter contentment she gets from this ritual. She feels akin to a gratified feline who has been scratched behind its ears.

When she was very small, her mother would come into her room every night and just sit at Madge's bedside, playing with her hair and talking to her softly until Madge was lulled to sleep by the feel of her mother's delicate fingers and soft words.

As she got older, since her mother did better in the mornings as opposed to the evenings, Madge would have to go to her mother's bedside to have her hair played with. Madge didn't mind, however—she liked how her own hair glittered in the morning sunlight as she watched her mother tug on the strands and fold them into braids or pig tails.

Gradually, these rituals—day or night—stopped altogether, and Madge did her own hair. It's odd, but at times when she feels the loneliest, she longs not for her piano or a friend, but just for someone to play with her hair. It doesn't even have to be her mother, but more often than not, Madge wishes it would be.

So that's why she doesn't mind when Posy Hawthorne takes a fascination in her hair. Posy loves to play with it, wrap her chubby little fingers around strands and try and mold the loose waves into tight curls. She likes combing her fingers through the gold, and she is always so gentle that Madge doesn't mind. The sensation of people playing with her hair is wonderful, but not everyone is good at it. Her father, for example, was awful at it. He tugged too hard, his fingers were too clumsy, and more often than not, he gave up and ruffled her hair anyway.

Madge will sit very still and patiently while Posy puts various clips and pins in her hair. Sometimes this ritual can go on for hours, but Madge doesn't mind at all. Madge finds she can still be productive—here in District 13 Haymitch gave her the same job he did when they were in District 12: she sifts through reports and newspapers and watches Capitol programs in order to scope out anything useful. She has a knack for reading between the lines—figuratively and literally—and has a good set of instincts. Her father said she was good at "sifting through the bullshit" and Madge agrees. It must run in the family.

Thinking about her parents always makes Madge's heart drop a little bit. When the bombs hit District 12 she was, of all places, making her way to the Meadow. She knew it was forbidden, that she shouldn't have been out there so late especially with curfew, but she knew the Peacekeeper's schedule inside and out, and she loved looking at the stars. She could hardly see them from town.

The first bomb, Madge knows now with certainty, was meant for her house. She heard them coming overhead and she screamed—an inhuman, banshee scream—when she saw the bomb drop on her house. Her house—that huge mansion monstrosity—rose like a beacon in town and she could see it in go up in flames.

Madge made a move to rush back, but found herself restricted. Strong hands held her arms—she clawed and screamed and cried and tried to break free, but Gale Hawthorne wouldn't budge. Apparently he had an inkling that something like this might happen—not on such a huge scale, but he heard the crafts approaching and he and his mother put two and two together. He was on his way to find others who lived near the Hob when he heard Madge.

"It's too late, Undersee," he told her, even as she left red scratches down his forearms. "They're gone. Get out of here! You don't want to die, too, do you?"

"Let me go, Gale!" Madge sobbed. "They're still in there." At that moment, she did want to die. She should have been in that house with them, holding her mother's hand, keeping her father strong.

Crafts flew overhead and both knew they should instinctively run, hide like the prey that Gale and Katniss so often hunted, but they didn't. Gale turned her around so she faced him, and she stood still, tears running down her face. "Madge," he said, very gently, with more kindness in his face than Madge thought possible, "if they haven't died on impact, the fire and smoke already killed them." He swallowed, looking physically ill as he told her. "It's too late for them. But not for you. I have to go find others," bombs were falling over the town, but they stood still in time. "You have to go to Katniss and Prim's house, okay? Okay, Madge?"

Madge nodded. Gale pushed her towards the Seam and then took off in a sprint, running towards the fleeing people of the District, helping the few elderly there and the young children. Madge ran to the Everdeen's and couldn't look back as the District—and her parents—went up in flames.

Madge reluctantly joined the Everdeen's and Hawthorne's, and, luckily for her, they welcomed her without a second thought. Madge suspected that Mrs. Hawthorne knew that she was the one that brought the morphling to Gale. She was especially attentive to Madge, but Madge found herself not caring about the reasons why. Keeping score was Gale and Katniss's thing—Madge accepted the generosity and kindness for what it was. Although, she mused later, Gale didn't have to be so nice to her that night. He certainly hadn't been in the past. This time, it didn't seem like he was keeping score, either.

Those weeks in the woods were rough—although she had spent some time there with Katniss, it hadn't prepared her for the way they lived. However, when Madge wasn't feeling guilty for being alive when her parents weren't, she was grateful, and tried to pull her weight when it came to caring for and taking care of the Everdeen/Hawthorne brood.

It was during that time that Posy became entranced with Madge's hair. It happened one day when Madge had come back from washing in a stream, and her hair was completely wet. It, like all hair, was darker when wet, but still retained some blonde sheen. Posy was fascinated.

"Your hair is like gold," she breathed, tentatively reaching her hand out to touch it as Madge finger combed it.

Madge smiled, amused. "Prim and Mrs. Everdeen have blonde hair as well," she said. "Why is mine so special?"

Posy shrugged. "It's prettier," she said. "When the sun shines on it, it glows—like a star!"

Madge laughed, the first time since she left the District. "Thank you, Posy."

Posy's hand stretched out a little farther, daring to get a little closer to Madge's hair.

"Posy!" Both Posy and Madge flinched at Gale's bark. "Stop bothering Madge." Gale just got back from hunting, and Madge had to restrain herself from cringing as when she saw him holding three rabbits by the ears.

"It's okay, Gale," Madge gave him a tentative smile, choosing the lesser of two evils by looking into his eyes versus the glassy ones of the rabbits. "I like it when people play with my hair, anyway," she said this for Posy, and turned a full-blown smile onto the chastised five-year-old.

Posy brightened and set herself on Madge's hair immediately.

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into," Gale warned her, but he too looked a little fascinated as he took in the golden waves tumbling down her back.

"It's okay, Gale," she said softly. "There's nothing wrong with a little human contact."

Gale flinched, the reminder of her parents between them, and left. Madge's eyes watered a bit, but she focused on the little fingers in her hair, gentle and wondering, and felt herself instinctively relax. It wasn't her mother's touch, but it was something. It was enough.

Today is no different. She is on the couch, sipping weak tea and leafing through the latest reports while Posy sits next to her, attempting to coax Madge's unruly waves into ladylike curls. Madge is tempted to tell her she needs a curling iron for that, but doesn't want to give Posy ideas with anything that has to do with heat.

Madge finds herself in the Hawthorne's quarters fairly frequently these days, helping Mrs. Hawthorne out with the three kids while Gale is away, training. Madge worries for him, worries that his bloodthirstiness and ambition for revenge will overwhelm him, but she never tells him this. They aren't close, and she's fairly sure that Gale regards her as something barely above dirt. There are times, though, when they're having dinner, all together at the dinner table, that Madge catches him looking at her. She can't interpret his expression: it isn't hard or stoic, but it's intense, nonetheless. It unnerves her because his emotions are locked up so tightly that she can never discern what he's thinking. Maybe it's a Seam thing.

She tries to visit Katniss when she can, and oddly enough, Katniss likes it when Madge just sits there, at her hospital bedside, playing with her hair. Madge will make up fairy tales and fables while she undoes Katniss's braid and softly runs her fingers through the dark waterfall. Madge has never seen the ocean, but she imagines it would be opaque like Katniss's braid, and it feels like water as she slips her fingers from the scalp to the frayed ends. Madge suspects that when she was younger, Katniss's mother did this for her as well—someone had to teach her how to braid, after all. Maybe Katniss misses it. Her mother has never been particularly vacant in her later years, and this calms Katniss, keeps her sane, even if she is constantly worrying over the absent Peeta, locked away in the Capitol. Madge understands. There's something incredibly soothing, innately intimate, when someone plays with your hair. Maybe it's a girl thing.

Today, the little apartment is quiet. Mrs. Hawthorne took Vick and went shoe shopping for him—he's growing like a weed these days; Rory is out visiting Prim—Madge suspects that he has a crush on her, but would not dare mention it to the protective Katniss or mocking Gale; and Gale is away, training, as usual. It's just Madge and Posy on the couch because Madge volunteered to watch Posy. She adores her. She always thought she'd be a good elder sister.

Posy is usually very talkative, chattering incessantly to her brothers and mother. She says whatever she thinks with absolutely no filter, and more often than not, this gets her into trouble. Around Madge and her golden hair, however, she falls silent. She sticks her little tongue out and narrows her eyes as she parts Madge's hair. Posy is trying to braid the gold, curly locks and get it as tight and perfect as Katniss's and Prim's. Madge does not discourage her, or say she should wait until she is older and has larger hands—Madge has thick hair, so even she has trouble containing all of it—but simply lets her work. Sometimes she pulls hard, and Madge tries hard not to wince. Posy will notice, though, and then she will stop, running her hands through Madge's hair softly over and over as an apology. They don't need words to communicate.

Today is one of those days, and for some reason, it feels even more soothing than normally. Madge finds her eyelids drooping and her shoulders sagging in exhaustion. It's been six months since the bombing, and lately Madge has found herself sleeping poorly. The broadcasts she has to watch of the tortured Peeta don't help either. She tends to wake up sobbing as she watches Peeta and her parents light up in flames, a fresh cremation.

Madge doesn't realize she's dozed off until she hears clamoring in the kitchen. Her eyes blink open blearily and she realizes she is sideways on the couch. Her notes and reports are not scattered on the floor, but instead are stacked neatly on the coffee table. A regulated blanket is draped over her, and a thin pillow is placed below her head. Her shoes have been taken off and placed side by side near the door. Madge lifts her head blearily, then realizes. Posy!

She jumps off the couch, and looks frantically around the room. Everything looks in order, but where is Posy?

She spots, of all people, Gale coming out of the kitchen. He is immediately alarmed at the sight of a panicked Madge, her hair tousled and blue eyes terrified. "Gale!" She breathes out. "I—I'm—Posy?"

Gale instantly relaxes. He smirks a little, but it's not mocking. "She's fine. Did you not notice her?" He jerks his head to behind Madge.

Madge swivels around. In the chair next to the couch is Posy, curled up with a stuffed toy and a blanket as well.

Madge turns back to Gale in utter confusion. She doesn't dare speak.

"I found you both asleep when I came home," he said. "You were slouched over rather uncomfortably, though, and Posy was asleep in your lap." He raises an eyebrow. "Didn't realize hair styling was so exhausting."

Madge blushes. "I'm so sorry," she said. "I think I fell asleep first. I'm just—it's—I'm sorry."

Gale goes into the kitchen and comes back out with silverware. He begins to set the table. "Don't worry about it." He doesn't look at her as he says, more quietly, "I heard you muttering in your sleep. I don't suppose you've been sleeping very well lately?"

Madge freezes. "No," she whispers. All she sees is blonde hair amidst a back drop of flames.

Gale looks at her, takes in the circles under her eyes, her frazzled appearance. She's still more beautiful than she should be, but she looks unwell. "You need to stop overworking yourself," he tells her. "I can tell Haymitch—"

"Don't you dare!" Madge says, and then, contrite, looking at Posy, lowers her voice. "The work isn't the problem. It's just… me. Okay? Don't take this away from me. If anything, I'm not doing enough."

Gale frowns at her, perplexed. "Why is this so important to you?"

Madge shakes her head, sighs. "Work keeps me sane. It gives me something to do. Contrary to popular belief, I can't just sit here. I'm not good at being helpless." Contrary to what you might believe, she resists adding. She looks at him to see if he is mentally adding on a similar insult. His silver eyes stare steadily back at her, suggesting nothing.

For a few minutes they simply stand there, staring at each other, and Madge tries desperately not to ogle him. She's always liked Gale Hawthorne, always admired his spirit and his fire, even when it was directed at her. She likes how dedicated he is to his family and to the Everdeen's, and she admires and is jealous of his loyalty and love for Katniss.

Despite her best efforts, it's hard to ignore his straight shoulders, his lean, tapered figure, and his direct, piercing gaze. Madge feels herself going as red as the strawberries he used to bring her in the summertime. She doesn't notice his eyes outlining her figure.

"No one would think you're helpless, Madge," she is literally flabbergasted at this. His eyes are sincere. "Those weeks in the woods have proven that. Besides, you've done a lot to help the rebellion. A lot of people are good at taking action but—you think things through." He gives a little self-deprecating grin. "The rebels have enough impulsive people fighting for them, like myself. We need more people like you to bring us back to Earth." He stops and then, as if he's said too much, clears his throat hastily.

He turns back to go into the kitchen. Madge's eyes follow him out but she can't see him in the kitchen, reaching for the dinner he concocted as he fights for normalcy. She always makes him lose his shit; it's always better to keep quiet when he's around her—there's something about her that makes him want to talk. Talking is something both he and Katniss are not great at. Maybe it's a Seam thing. He takes a deep breath and says casually, "You staying for dinner?" It's something like a joke these days, since Madge practically lives with them, or is close to it, anyway.

"Yes," Madge says a little unsteadily. "Do you—do you mind?" It hasn't occurred to her—at least, not since their time in the forest—that Gale might resent her presence in his family. She contributes her ration tickets and any wages she can to the family, despite Hazelle's protests, but Madge knows she's one more person to feed, one more body in the already cramped quarters. She is lucky. She could have been with the other wards in their own depressing container, but Haymitch was appointed her guardian and he is in the process of trying to pull some strings so she can stay with the Hawthorne's.

"I could call you their cousin," growled Haymitch, "but that's already been done before," he says this as a dig at Katniss, who just glares at him from her hospital bed. "So I'll just tell them it's what I want as your guardian and hope it shuts those neurotic bastards up."

It would be more economical if Madge stayed with the Everdeen's, but the Hawthorne women- both Hazelle and Posy- have taken to Madge particularly, and even Rory and Vick adore her. Madge is wondering if Gale's seemingly innocent question is, in reality, resentment because he does not want her here but has been outvoted.

"Of course not," Gale said, and Madge can hear the surprise in his voice. "It was just a joke." He comes out, with a pot that looks like stew. "I mean, you're practically a member of the family," he says plainly, unaware of the cracks he's making in Madge's heart.

What did you expect, you dolt? She questions herself as she struggles not to feel heartbroken. He's completely head over heels for Katniss. You never stood a chance. Just take this. You have people who care about you, when you know that you should be alone. Being a sister figure is a step-up from being That Spoiled Rich Girl From Town.

"Right," Madge says finally, moving to help him.

Her fingers brush his as she grabs the pot holders from him, and she is shocked to find them both startle. "I mean," he says, propelled by some unknown force to clarify, "When I came home and saw you and Posy sleeping on the couch—" He cuts off, realizing that he was going to say something he'd regret later. So he pauses. Clears his throat. Tries again. "It felt like you were meant to be here."

Madge looks at him in amazement, unaware that Gale Hawthorne could adequately articulate such depth. Anger and criticism, that was easy for him, but anything else? It was like pulling teeth.

"Thanks, Gale," she turns to him fully and smiles at him brightly, radiantly, and Gale feels dizzy for a moment. Posy was right. She did glow. She didn't even need the sun to do it. "I—That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."

Madge is amazed to see a tinge of pink on Gale's dark cheeks. He looks at her for a moment, a bit reverently, as if he can't believe what he's seeing. He is unguarded, and Madge is a bit unhinged. Gale is looking at her like how he looked at Katniss in District 12 when they were younger, especially after the first Games. To be honest, Madge isn't sure if he still looks at Katniss like that now—she hasn't seem them together here, although she knows that Gale visits her but she doesn't know how oft—

She's rambling. She's mentally rambling because she can't fathom that Gale Hawthorne could ever look at her how she's always looked at him.

She looks up and Gale is right in front of her. She watches him swallow hard as he lifts his right hand up, tentatively. He catches a lock of hair and she watches him focus on that one curl as he fingers and whirls it around his finger. She can barely breathe.

"Gale?" She breathes out.

His eyes finally meet hers and she realizes how lost she really is.

Gale swallows hard again, debating internally if he should just give in already. He's liked Madge for ages, always thought she was gorgeous, but it was easier to love Katniss—someone who was like him and was attainable. He thinks that it was seeing Madge's strength and character while they foraged in the woods all those weeks that did him in. She could manage in the wilderness, she could hold her own and keep going even after she lost everything; she wasn't like the other town girls from District 12 (spoiled—whiny—dead). She was patient and determined and intelligent and everything he hadn't realized he ever wanted.

Gale knows he should say something, perhaps put this inner monologue into spoken words, but hell's teeth, it was like he told her earlier—he's a man of action, not of words. He leans in and kisses her.

Although he is more experienced than she, the kiss is shy on both ends, it is soft and gentle and Madge decides that the sensation of kissing Gale Hawthorne is ten times better than any hair treatment she's ever experienced. Things only get better when Gale decides that he wants more and pulls her to him, wrapping one arm around her waist and entangling the other in her hair.

His lips move over hers urgently and she responds enthusiastically, her hands cupping his face, thumbs moving across the stubble. His fingers pull at locks of her hair, but the way he cradles her head with his palm is gentle enough where Madge doesn't mind at all.

They pull apart hastily when they hear the door rattle. Hazelle and Vick pour in, Rory trailing behind them with Prim Everdeen in tow. Hazelle stops when she takes in a flushed Madge and a flustered Gale.

"Is everything all right?" Hazelle asks with a suspicious, all-knowing frown.

"Everything's wonderful, Mama!" Pipes up a mesmerized and very much awake Posy from the couch. Gale and Madge turn to her in horror as she announces, "Gale and Madge were just kissing! It's okay," Posy's grin is wide with glee even as Gale violently motions for her to be quiet. "I think Gale just likes Madge's hair just as much as I do."

Gale looks down in mortification but is startled when he finds three gold strands are still wrapped around his fingers.

0 0 0

There are many times in Madge's life when she thinks upon this memory and smiles. It no longer brings complete and utter embarrassment but instead is a memory of happiness, a ray of sunshine in a sea of dark days. There are many memories that people carry as remnants of the war, internal scars that will never go away, but that was one scar, a mark on her heart, that Madge doesn't mind retaining.

She snuggles deeper into the white down comforter of her bed, giving a little sigh of happiness as the moonlight filters into her room through the blinds. It had been a long, but wonderful day—Rory and Prim's wedding. It seemed like only yesterday they were sneaking around District 13, stealing kisses in corners—or is Madge confusing them with her and Gale? Ah, no matter, they all did it; even Katniss and Peeta partook in it when Peeta was back and finally well again. Celebrations like weddings and births are always welcome to Madge and she enjoys going to them, even if her date doesn't deal with happiness and joy and emotions in general very well. But he's getting better.

"Sometimes I think you love this bed more than you love me," comes a deep murmur next to her. Madge turns. Gale is already half asleep, one arm thrown over his eyes, the other stretched out towards her, an invitation. "Knew I should've just gotten that thinner mattress."

"Oh, hush," Madge says, slapping his arm lightly. "You just enjoy hearing me declare that I couldn't love anything more than I love you."

Gale's lips quirk. "Well, it works, doesn't it?"

"You're just lucky that you make a great pillow," Madge grumbles, even though she moves closer, burrowing herself into Gale's side, her head on his chest. His arm curls around her and the other one comes up to Madge's head, and then, ever so gently, he begins to run his fingers through her hair. Ever since Madge told him about why she didn't mind Posy's obsession with her hair and the connection to her mother, he has taken up the habit of running his fingers through her hair until she falls asleep—every single night.

Madge sighs happily, whispering a drowsy "good night" as she slowly drifts off to sleep.

Gale says nothing but smiles to himself, the blonde strands wrapped around his finger, glinting the same shade of gold in the moonlight as the ring on his finger.


End file.
